


Sherrinford is a great name but a bad brother

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on the kink meme for a fill. Anon wanted: "Sherlock invites John to the Holmes' estate for Christmas dinner (under Mummy's orders of course). Sherringford, Sherlock and Mycroft's older sibling takes one look at his two brothers and says 'still sleeping together then, are we?'. John's like 'WHAAAAAT??!' and Mummy's shocked, and the younger brothers start yelling at Sherringford for upsetting Mummy while John chokes quietly on his food."<br/>This is pretty close to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherrinford is a great name but a bad brother

**Author's Note:**

> Sherringford (or Sherrinford as I spelled it which is also right, lol) is a hypothetical older brother of Sherlock and Mycroft. His name is based on some early ideas Doyle had for Sherlock's name.
> 
> Incest isn't cool, but Holmescest is. Sorry.
> 
> This definitely isn't my best writing but I was responding to an old prompt that just HAD to be filled.
> 
> Hope you like it! :)
> 
> \--A special thanks to serellie whose suggestions helped make this story infinitely better than it was!

It had taken a lot of prodding to get Sherlock to agree to spend Christmas dinner with his family--including an invitation to John and the promise that there would be no raisins in the stuffing--but Mycroft had agreed, on their mother's behalf, that these things would be seen to. Still, Sherlock put on a happy face to greet Mummy warmly hoping to overtake Mycroft in the "favourite son" category. Both knew, however, that neither could compete with their eldest sibling Sherrinford. Having chosen to stay at home to manage the estate and help Mummy, Sherrinford could not be beaten.

Mycroft followed behind Sherlock closely to greet his mother with even more warmth. John didn't know which sons' display of affection was more disturbing. At least he had known Mycroft to care about Sherlock's well-being, but Sherlock seemed to think those feelings beneath him. Seeing them both hug and kiss their mother was enough for John to go pale and dumb. He was already regretting accepting Sherlock's invitation.

Sherlock, knowing that bringing a friend to their family dinner was bad enough (worse, a rude one) gave John an icy stare before John got the hint and strode over to introduce himself. He fumbled with an awkward handshake-hug-bow before retreating between Mycroft and Sherlock. Although, why he thought that position would be safer even he did not know.

John took a moment to survey the room. It was nothing like he had expected it and, yet, the only thing he could have expected. Somewhere between a library, museum, and a castle, the room was warmly decorated but oddly cold. Nothing in it showed the love of a family or signs of children. It made him uneasy. He couldn’t wait for the cook to announce that dinner was ready, though he doubted the dining room would be homier.

Sherlock, sensing disapproval from his mother, turned his attention to Mycroft: "Your girlfriend couldn’t make it tonight, I see. Decided to visit with her mother in France then?”

Sherlock knew that Mycroft's girlfriend was purely a cover to allow him to stay powerful in a still very homophobic world. She was one of his best agents and her job was to play the part of a perfect woman, and she did it exceedingly well. Still, Mycroft kept up the pretense because it made his Mummy happy. Sherlock was jealous.

“Of course.”

“Which explains the new tie she bought you. Already gave you your gift then? She really does have horrible taste.”

John looked at Mycroft’s tie. It wasn’t that bad. “How did Sherlock know…whatever…wait: Mycroft has a girlfriend?” John thought. "That definitely ruins things," his brain wrongly suggested.

“Some of us are confident enough to visit family without a crutch” Mycroft stated with a slight curl to his lips, his eyes directed briefly at John.

“Hey, I’m…” John began, before catching Mummy’s disapproving glare and shutting up once more. It was hard to tell if the look was directed at him or if her face was permanently in that state but he decided not to risk it. The army had not prepared him for this.

“You didn’t want to join her? Perfect opportunity to refresh your favourite cologne. I know you’ve run out, but the new one is inconceivably worse. Not to mention your shoes: you’ve already had these re-soled at least once.”

“I did not run out.” Mycroft jumped in, grinning smugly. “The cologne was also a gift. What kind of girlfriend only gives her partner a tie when they aren’t spending Christmas together?” He looked at Mummy.

Sherlock had missed that. He always misses something. If there was one thing that Sherlock knew less about than the solar system it was gift-giving. Yes, an expert on the types of underwear gay men wear and bohemian paper, but gifts eluded him.

Sherlock began again, not wasting any time explaining his deductions. He wanted only to prove his genius in front of Mummy, Mycroft, and even John: "There's something else...You've been on the phone for hours today with someone who speaks Singaporean English, you've recently had the stem of your umbrella repaired, probably using it for non-rain related purposes again. You've been giving up late dinners but have picked back up your habit of midnight snacks. Your jacket and pants were tailored by two...no three different people, probably due to your weight fluctuation. What is it, 2 kilos since I saw you last?" He stopped to take a breath, but decided that he had been correct on everything.

Sherlock and Mycroft stared at each other. Mycroft began: “John! I see that you’ve gotten a haircut and new jumper for the occasion. That stain on your shoe would suggest that you’ve…”

“Leave John out of this” Sherlock barked.

Mycroft stopped, a bit surprised by Sherlock's reaction. He cringed thinking that something was going on between his brother and the doctor. "Fine. I can tell that you spent last night with an experiment involving the different rates at which several types of pillow stuffings burn: down...cotton...and I think even John's memory foam. You ended up burning the table along with them, didn't you? Not much, but it took off some varnish. You went to bed around...4. You skipped breakfast to have a nap on the sofa instead, sleeping on your left shoulder. And you're forgetting that we just saw each other two days ago so it's only been a half kilo, not two."

Mummy leaned back in her chair and put her hands together under her chin, tapping the tips of her fingers together in an obvious state of unease. Well, obvious to the brothers. John didn’t see much difference.

Sherlock caught Mycroft’s gaze and the two silently decided to act civilized for their mother’s sake, asking about her health before going quiet.

Time passed at a snail’s pace while the room was almost deathly silent. John noticed the brothers scanning each other for more deductions but he kept his mind on the strange spot that Mycroft knew _something_ about, which had just become very interesting on the side of his shoe. So interesting, that he took to staring at it for the better part of 10 minutes.

When one of the staff announced dinner the brothers aided Mummy out of her seat and into the dining room.

John took a sideways-glance from Sherlock to mean that he’d be sitting to Sherlock’s right, Mummy at Sherlock’s left. Mycroft sat on Mummy’s left side across from his brother. John chanced a look to the other three to make sure he was placing his napkin properly and not breaking any rules of etiquette. With all the tension in the room he still wasn't sure why he had agreed to come tonight and he was regretting it.

Just as John reached nervously for his glass of water the door to the room opened revealing someone who was, quite obviously, a Holmes.

Sherrinford was tall, with dark hair, light skin, medium build, and sharply dressed. Mycroft and Sherlock tensed noticeably at the sight of him and even John straightened his back to attention. Mummy actually looked--to the trained eye--pleased to see him. Sherrinford gave his mother a peck on the cheek, wished her a Happy Christmas, introduced himself to John, and took his seat at the other end of the table, opposite Mummy.

Sherlock and Mycroft gave each other uneasy looks. Mycroft, having dealt with many powerful and brilliant men in his unofficial position took the lead: “Well, hello Sherrinford and Happy Chr—“

“Sorry I have kept you waiting, but I was making sure everything is to perfection. Oh, and Sherlock, there are no raisins in the stuffing. I checked myself,” he said patronizingly in a mocked-older-brother-to-baby-brother fashion.

“I…I’m the one who hates raisins!” John blurted. He didn’t know why. He actually liked them. Of course they’d all know that he was lying because…well, they were Holmeses…and probably that darned interesting spot on his shoe. He was certain now that it was incriminating. He wished he could stare at it now, or that the ground might open up and swallow him whole: saving him from this evening.

“It’s nice to see you again Sherrinford,” Sherlock replied coldly. No insults. No deductions. John was beyond uneasy at this Sherlock.

The food was brought in piping hot and Sherrinford, as the eldest son, got to carve the turkey. Everything looked and smelled delicious. John eyed it all hungrily and, as soon as he saw Mummy taking her first bite, practically dove into his food. Mycroft and Sherlock, on the other hand, picked at their plates. John knew how little Sherlock normally ate, and supposed Mycroft was trying to avoid quips about his weight, so he barely noticed the silent conversation the two seemed to be having via eye-movements.

“Still sleeping together then, are we?” Sherrinford began, not even looking up from the table.

“Gaaah-*cough* *cough*-WHAAAAT?” John blurted out, choking on his food.

“Sherrinford!” Mummy yelled, before going quite pale.

Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged horrified glances. “Why in the world would you think… think…no…why…” Sherlock paused, he had to word this carefully. There was no doubt in his mind that Sherrinford had made enough observations to deduce that his brothers had been sleeping together, and now was not the time to let him list them all. “Does this seem like an appropriate topic of conversation?”

“Not at all, but it had to come out sometime, and there’s enough sexual tension at your end of the table to carve through.” Sherrinford paused as he watched Mycroft fanning their mother and handing her a drink. “While your John would seem the perfect candidate for your liking, it’s clear that Mycroft still receives your affections….or do you receive his, Sherlock? That does seem more likely.” Sherrinford said with a malevolent grin. No Holmes should grin like that, John decided, still quietly choking on his food. He was lucky that his brain was so focused on a lack of oxygen that it didn’t have time to think of Sherlock and Mycroft…no, wait, it did. Just briefly, but enough to make him choke even more.

Sherlock stiffened, then moved to say something else, something much more biting about Sherrinford taking dad’s place in the family—insinuating an Oedipal relationship, but Mycroft predicted this and jumped in first.

“Let’s get Mummy to bed. You’ve upset her with your nonsense, Sherrinford.” He helped her from the table and Sherlock scrambled to put her napkin next to her plate before holding her arm and helping her out of the room. Sherlock was actually relieved that Mycroft had stopped him, as he realized that fighting about it would do nothing more than incriminate them further; though, at this point, all he wanted to do was break Sherrinford's nose. John, meanwhile, grabbed Sherlock’s full water glass in a desperate attempt to dislodge the food that was still stuck in his throat.

After getting Mummy safely to her room and repeating that Sherrinford was “just joking” enough times to hypnotize her to it, the Holmes brothers left her room and entered the hallway, neither wanting to meet the other’s gaze.

Suddenly Sherlock felt a slight pull on his arm and he was being led by Mycroft into an old guest room, probably never used.

Mycroft still held Sherlock’s arm as he closed the door behind them. It took a moment before either could speak.

“What are we going to do about this, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, suddenly turning into the scared younger brother Mycroft always thought he was protecting.

“Give me a moment to think, Sherlock. He isn’t going to bring it up again in front of Mummy _tonight_ , that’s for certain, now that he’s seen the effects it has on her. Even I wouldn't have thought our stoic Mummy to react so badly. At least he has no concrete evidence of our relationship. ”

The two paused, deep in thought. They had been running from this for a while. It wasn't as if a sexual relationship had just formed overnight, and Sherrinford had gotten a front row seat to most of the longing and guilt-ridden stares over the years. But it was something that Mycroft and Sherlock had finally accepted, knowing that their feelings for each other were completely and utterly wrong but, for the most part, no longer caring. Mycroft was really the only one who had always been there for Sherlock, who gave him a sense of competition, put up with his lack of social skills and simpathy, and who cared for him deeply. Sherlock, on the other hand, was the only person who respected Mycroft because of his genius rather than his job, who could put up with his quirks, and who knew exactly what he wanted without prompting. They saw the other as as-close-to-equal as was possible, which was why their brother's quip about who might "receive" touched on a nerve. Sherlock had always enjoyed having Mycroft inside him rather than the opposite, but he fought against the idea that it made him subordinate somehow. Mycroft always reassured Sherlock against it, but it was still a sore subject. This all just encouraged his rage against Sherrinford.

It might have all been taboo, but Sherlock and Mycroft believed mainly in logic and their relationship was based on it. It didn't matter that Sherrinford knew, but now he was using it against them and he was hurting Mummy; even if she was just an innocent victim in his quest to make his brothers miserable. Sherlock regretted bringing John into this chaos and hoped he wasn't in the process of trying to intervene on their behalf.

It took them both little more than a minute to work out the best way at revenge, and to somehow keep him from bringing this up again.

Mycroft's face lit up, "I know where he spends his free time, and Mummy wouldn't like that very much either. Not as much as...well," Mycroft moved a hand between them, "I already have plenty of evidence on him in this area from my surveillance teams. He and I obviously don't share the same relationship as the two of us, so it's doubtful that he knows what I can do and have done. It's not going to be easy, but his past indiscretions--which I have, so far, worked to erase, as I do for yours--might just show up again." Mycroft smiled slyly. "It's still just his word against ours, but this should keep him quiet."

“Then we have nothing to fear,” Sherlock said with a smirk and a fire in his eyes. “Mummy’s in bed and, knowing her, will be milking this for weeks to come. He’ll have to care for her while we get to leave, which is almost revenge enough. He may have thought he was outsmarting us by outing our relationship, but he’s played his trump card now and there’s nothing else he can do.”

Mycroft returned a smooth smile at Sherlock. “Then I guess there’s no harm in making him just as uncomfortable as he made us.” They both knew this would be the sweetest revenge.

Their bodies thudded together as they tore each other’s clothes off, making sure to leave just enough buttons loosened and pulled fabric to be glaringly noticeable. Having had years of practice they were almost more capable of undressing each other than themselves. Completely naked now, they looked each other over lustfully. Without hesitation, Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of Mycroft to suck him hard while Mycroft gripped his brother’s curls. The only time Mycroft did not envy the fact that Sherlock got Mummy's curls was when he had a handful of them. He loved the softness of them, how the curls seemed to wrap around his fingers as he pushed them back from Sherlock's forehead to get a better look at his brother's stunning eyes. This only encouraged him to suck harder, making his cheekbones stick out further than one would think was possible.

Mycroft groaned deeply as Sherlock licked hungrily, looking up at him with vengeful, lust-filled eyes. He may have hated Sherrinford, but Mycroft mentally noted that this was one of the most vigorous sucks Sherlock had ever given. Mycroft might just have to make him angry again...at someone else, of course.

Sherlock caught his brother's eye and moved back to run his tongue around the tip before sucking it back in as deeply as he could. As he heard Mycroft whisper his name Sherlock felt the control that he had over Mycroft, and he began touching himself in rhythm to his own rocking.

Mycroft wanted Sherlock closer to him--to feel his body against his own. Not carrying any lube on them—because who wants that falling out at a family dinner—Mycroft resorted to pulling Sherlock to his feet and grinding their erections together. It was better this way that they didn't have to fight over who got to do what. Their breathing quickened and sweat became noticeable on both of their pale chests. It was hard not to notice how similar their bodies were, but Mycroft's added weight gave Sherlock something to grip and he grabbed Mycroft's bum to heighten the friction between them, eliciting a moan and frantic thrusts from his brother.

Their kisses were more destructive than normal and they marked each other’s mouths with bites and sucks, leaving noticeable redness.

Mycroft trailed his hand down Sherlock's perfectly formed chest, before pushing his brother back slightly. He used a mix of their precome and Sherlock’s saliva to slick his hand and pump their erections together, pulling roughly and quickly—neither wanting to draw this out. Sherlock covered the hand with his own and helped Mycroft achieve a more perfect pace, all the while gripping the back of Mycroft's head with the other and sucking spots into Mycroft's neck and shoulder, feeling his pulse quicken under his tongue as he started to come undone. The look that they expected on their other brother’s face was going to be priceless.

They came together, spilling onto their stomachs and hands. They were trying their best to be quiet, but their heavy breathing filled the room. Mycroft took a last look at Sherlock's open mouth and reddened lips before releasing his grip. He used his pocket square to wipe their stomachs clean before noticing Sherlock licking his hand. Mycroft followed suit, fixing his eyes upon Sherlock's, leading to another, breathless kiss.

They broke away and started dressing as sloppily as he could manage. Sherlock enjoyed watching Mycroft visibly struggle with not looking his tidiest, all the while thinking that he should try the look more often.

The two made sure that the room was exactly how it had been before leaving to go downstairs.

John, who had finally composed himself, had decided against saying anything. Instead, he sat quietly while Sherrinford ate his dinner with glee. John had gone to a happy place in his mind where he imagined that Sherrinford had been talking about something completely innocent: Sherlock and Mycroft had lovely sleepovers where they talked about brotherly things and only did brotherly things; Sherlock never, ever, ever had sex; Mycroft only ever touched his girlfriend; John got that stain off his shoe; and they all lived happily ever after…

This train of thought was broken by Sherlock and Mycroft’s grand entrance into the dining hall. It didn’t even take a Holmes to know what they had just done: John sensed it in a minute, causing a strange mixture of emotions. He began choking again, this time on both his own saliva and the groan that had tried to escape his lips.

“Mummy is in bed now, but I would suggest that we let her rest.” Mycroft said, watching as the help removed their plates to bring in some Christmas pudding. “We’ve assured her that nothing is as you stated. You were merely joking. I think it would be best to keep it this way.”

“I agree,” Sherrinford said. He appeared to be quite uncomfortable with the whole situation, but all Holmes brothers are good actors.

There was a tint of delight in his younger brothers’ eyes at this, thinking that they had finally won.

“…which is why it would be best for both of you to cooperate with me,” Sherrinford finished.

A moment of horror passed silently from Mycroft to Sherlock as the brother’s realized the intent of those words.

John was confused, and could see genuine terror in Sherlock’s face. Though he might think the whole situation revolting (or possibly the hottest think he’d ever heard…wait, no…that was the shoe stain talking again) he wasn’t going to let someone bully his friend. “What are you threatening?” He said in his most hostile voice, standing up from the table.

“The third room from Mummy’s? Obvious. It would take one to cool off, one for Mycroft to decide that you need to talk, and another to actually drag Sherlock into the room.” Sherrinford was good. “You'd decide that I didn't have any leverage and to get off with each other in revenge. Maybe you didn’t notice the cameras I had hidden on the dresser. Right next to the bed. I bet I got a great view.” There was a pause. “But you didn’t even make it to the bed, did you? No…no lubrication, right? Most likely just rubbed each other off in the middle of the room given by the spot on Mycroft’s shoe. It didn’t make it out of the line of fire.” He laughed.

 _Damned evil spots on shoes_ , John thought.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Mycroft silenced him by starting first. John had never seen Sherlock so quiet, so outdone. It was weird (but sexy…what?).

“So, what is it you want?” Mycroft asked calmly, as if he were dealing with any other madman. It was the same tone he used when talking to world leaders who were hell-bent on blowing something up, not that anyone else in the room knew that…or could confirm that he actually held that kind of role in government…were he in government…which is not official, by the way.

Sherrinford took in a breath. He pretended that he had to think about it, as if this hadn’t already been planned in great detail and he didn’t have a list of demands in mind. “First, Mycroft, I want you to stop visiting Mummy. You’re her second favourite, and I don’t need more competition. Obviously that goes for you too Sherlock, even though you don’t bother now.”

The brothers nodded in agreement.

“Then, I want you both to sign over your rights to the estate. I’m the only one who takes care of it so it should be mine anyways.”

The brothers nodded again.

“Third, and last, I don’t want you two seeing each other. Heaven only knows what you might plot against me, so if I hear that you’ve been meeting I will show Mummy the tape. I’m sure even a second of it will be enough to write you both out of the will and leave her very, very _displeased_ ,” he smiled evilly.

There was no argument. They both nodded once more.

John was dumbstruck.

There was a quick exit involving separate cars and silent rides home. John decided that he was going to pretend it had been a sick dream (which was easy because he’d had a few of this sort before...although usually they were sexier).

….

Several days had passed and Sherlock had not mentioned Christmas dinner. John, of course, was not going to bring it up. They covered a few murder cases that had happened while away and set about updating their blogs. John worked tirelessly to get the spot off of his shoe...It was all fairly normal.

Even more normal was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs: footsteps that John had grown to know over the past year. No one else walked with such a sluggish pace up to their flat.

“The car is waiting, Sherlock” Mycroft called when finally at the top of the stairs. “Oh, hello John.”

“But…um…huh…” John couldn’t form a thought.

Sherlock walked into the living room and grabbed his scarf. “Going to Mummy’s” he said to John, picking up his coat next.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry but…I thought…” John was still having a difficult time. He’d been walking on eggshells trying not to say anything to upset Sherlock and now he finds out the brothers are going against Sherrinford’s will?

Sherlock noticed John’s confusion: “he said third room.”

“Was it not?” John asked.

Mycroft began, “Sherrinford supposed that Sherlock would act like he normally does and put up a fight before joining me in the guest room. He thinks that we have some sort of power struggle. Clearly he doesn’t understand the way lovers act when alone.”

“Clearly”

“Second room then?” John said, quite shocked, a bit sick, (and very turned on?).

“Obviously” both brothers stated, starting down the stairs with haste, smiling as if they were beating Sherrinford all over again.

John sat still for a moment, still trying to register everything. It was then that he came to grips with the idea that Mycroft and Sherlock were actually in a relationship or, more specifically, shagging. John thought about this for a moment, then decided he should take a shower...a long one.

Inside the car the brothers sat gleefully, chatting away about what Mycroft had gotten on Sherrinford and how their brother would never try something like that again. It was then that an idea hit Mycroft, "you know, Sherlock, our brother did have a point about John." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He was slightly nervous that Sherrinford had scared Sherlock from being with him romantically, so he wanted to test his reaction. It was possible that Sherlock was thinking twice about the risks involved.

Sherlock met his gaze "I think he'd be more than willing to join _us_."

Mycroft liked the way that sounded.


End file.
